


Tied, with Love

by yozra



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, But also, Fate & Destiny, Historical Accuracy, Historical Inaccuracy, Immortality, M/M, Past Lives, Red Thread of Fate, Romantic Soulmates, Second chapter is a filler, Third Chapter is OiKuro, first chapter is bokuaka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21767494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yozra/pseuds/yozra
Summary: There are those who tie the red threads, and those who are tied by them.And there are times when a person may fall into both.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Akaashi Keiji, Oikawa Tooru/Kuroo Testurou
Comments: 16
Kudos: 48





	Tied, with Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [golden_kaori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_kaori/gifts).



> @golden_kaori: Merry Christmas! I come bearing gift fic :3 And. I. Got a bit carried away. This is what happens when you give me free rein over a Soulmate AU... The 1/3 chapters with the current word count looks a bit daunting, but chapter two is a very, very short filler. Chapter three will likely be a similar length to this chapter and by the time you finish reading you’ll see why - I’ve made a start on them so I’ll try and get them both to you as soon as possible. I don’t know whether to laugh or apologise – know I did both as I wrote that :D; I’m not sure if this is the kind of soulmate fic you like, but I hope you at least like parts of it :3
> 
> A big, big thank you to [yikescaninot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikescaninot/) for beta-ing and giving me a much-needed shove. 
> 
> I found myself feeling a little emotional when I realised I began this fic-writing journey this year with BokuAka and I will conclude the year with BokuAka; I wander off to other pairings but these two will always be my number one.
> 
> Thank you all so much for taking the time to read my stories, and for your support - whether for one story, some or all, visible or no, you have helped contribute to creating these stories in some form.

_musubiya –_ noun

mu·su·bi·ya | mü-sü-bē-yä

a person whose profession is to tie threads

compound of _musubu_ to tie and _-ya_ suffix denoting a profession

The Red Thread of Fate.  
  
Many knew the story but few believed, and fewer still were aware of its existence.  
  
For it did exist, the thread identifying people as soulmates and drawing them to each other, so they could live out the rest of their lives together.  
  
Rejecting this gift bestowed upon by fickle Fate was ill-advised; the despair from struggling against the incessant pull was as grinding as carrying the weight of two people’s worlds on one set of shoulders, or the void from having the thread cut was as desolate as floating in space in anguish and yearning while other soul-tied lovers flickered brightly afar.  
  
However, there was one small fact that slipped by everyone’s notice and that was how the threads came to be.

Thinking about it, pragmatically, it was absurd to assume threads magically appeared out of thin air, or people were born into the world with threads already attached. It was equally baffling to believe an all-powerful entity would dedicate the entirety of their immortal life to such an arduous and repetitive task.  
  
Far more rational was the idea that this responsibility was shifted onto mankind, and to one group in particular—

The _musubiya_.

Akaashi was a musubiya.

He received the names of his assignment, located the whereabouts of the first person, tied the thread end to their little finger (his preference was the figure-eight knot), located the whereabouts of the subsequent person, tied the trailing thread around their little finger, cut the ball free, and returned home to his post-box wherein his next assignment sat awaiting him.

Contractually, his job was straightforward. In reality, it required considerable time and effort.

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

Akaashi turned left out of the small alley that had led him from the station to the main street, seasonal jingles quashed under the grumbles of cars and trucks caught in traffic. He turned his head at the café he was passing lit up in fairy lights and noted a large drinks board with a clock hanging beside it reading twelve minutes past six – he picked up his pace to a brisk stride. On most Mondays, his target finished work at six p.m. and made his way to a ramen restaurant five minutes from his workplace. Fortunately, this was a popular place that required at least twenty minutes of queuing.  
  
Akaashi came to a stop at the main crossing just outside a florist, and viewed the poinsettias lined along its windowsill while he waited for the red man to turn green.  
  
(Why His Job Was Not Straightforward, Reason 1: He only ever received the names of his targets. There were no attachments detailing profiles or photographs, which meant having to do the research himself. He had once asked the reason for the nominal information when Fate was supposedly all-knowing – he received a secretive smile and an answer that Fate could only nudge in the right direction, it was down to humans to aid each other. This answer was unsatisfactory but it was the only one given so Akaashi made do.)  
  
Once across, he turned left again, walking another few minutes until he could make out the dully-lit yellow sign of the ramen chain with a queue of businesspersons and university students curving around the triangular building; he slowed his pace to a heavy trudge befitting of a Monday evening. He looked at the queue as he walked past – just another person contemplating whether the food was worth the wait – and spotted his target, a young man standing sixth from the door rubbing his hands together. Had the green-brown hair sticking up in all directions not been a clear enough match, then the distinctly freckled face – which became covered as the man tried to warm his hands with his breath – was enough to confirm this person was his target.  
  
(Why His Job Was Not Straightforward, Reason 2: The laborious task of going into the field to track his targets down. This was not an issue if they resided in neighbouring cities or prefectures – or even on the same island – but locality was not guaranteed. His last trip to Germany three months ago was still fresh in his mind, having ‘won’ a free trip for a two-week getaway, which was allowed because it ‘conveniently’ coincided with a conference his workplace so happened to consider sending him to attend. Fate arranged all sorts of means for him to accomplish his task; he would rather Fate gave out addresses even if it meant having to pay the fare out of his own pocket and expend all his annual leave.)  
  
Akaashi waited until he was just around the building, out of sight and lurking in the shadows, before reaching under his coat into his leather utility pouch hanging from his belt. It contained important belongings – ones normal like his wallet and keys, but also the tools of his trade: a pair of golden scissors, a ball of silky red thread and a brass stopwatch – these three he pulled out. The scissors and stopwatch were visible to the naked eye, the thread was not, and he was grateful the thread was only selectively visible because he had been walking around with a long trail ever since tying the first soulmate – a man with cropped black hair and a sharp glare – three days ago.  
  
(Why His Job Was Not Straightforward, Reason 3: The act of tying the knot itself. This was where the stopwatch came into play, pressed to be started but not to be stopped as the hand came to a sharp halt sixty seconds later; it could only be restarted after a set recovery time, although the specific timing was unknown. Of course, this was all after mastering the art of holding the thread, which could only be picked up using the exact pressure one might apply to pick up a ladybird that had landed upon a sleeve, its head and legs tucked in in refusal to crawl onto the gently prodding finger inviting it for a safe ride to the nearest flower. Learning to swiftly tie the thread by application of said pressure was another art entirely.)  
  
He pressed the button and watched the world before him halt into silent stillness. The novelty had long since worn off and to him it was sixty seconds that ended too soon, barely enough time for him to dash to the man, tie the thread around his little finger, snip off the end, and walk away at a leisurely pace back towards the station. By the last few seconds he became deafened by the silence – at which point noise crashed into his ears and engulfed him as the world started up once more. He checked his watch – twenty-three minutes past six – and picked up his pace to the station so he would be on time to catch the six-thirty train back (with one changeover) to his home station.  
  
If someone ever came to discover his secret profession, their first question may be on how he stumbled upon his job. Aside from the reality that he would never be so careless as to have another find out, or that in the event of such an unthinkable occurrence he would never disclose confidential information, he would likely answer that he did not so much as stumble, rather he had awoken one day with the ground against his back and the sky blindingly blue, and Fate standing over him in its assumed male form with a hand outstretched, ordering him to begin his work.  
  
Akaashi let go of the train handle to reach across to his left shoulder, trying to knead away the tension in his muscles that only tightened as he grabbed onto the handrail, the train swerving around a sharp curve. The ache could have been from sitting in front of a computer at a nine-to-five, overtime-to-eight, express transportation company, his left arm lacking the exercise of his right which moved the computer mouse and reached for cold green tea.   
  
Alternatively, it could have been from the memory of nerves pulsating around a metal ball grinding against shoulder bone, accompanied by searing pain shooting down from the back of his head, nausea churning in his stomach as he pushed himself up from the hardened soil over four hundred years ago.   
  
How times had changed since then – the ground with its paved concrete would be far more unforgiving should he happen to fall in the same manner now.  
  
After the twenty-eight-minute journey, it took another ten from the station to his apartment, which included two minutes spent inside a convenience store. Akaashi walked into his apartment building with a plastic bag dangling from his wrist, and he headed straight to the mail room; inside his post-box he found two flyers for nearby restaurants, a water bill, and a cotton white envelope with his name and address handwritten in ruby red. Throwing the flyers into the bin on his way to the elevator, he waited until he was within the privacy of his abode – door locked, shoes straightened, suit carefully hung, and he himself changed into his loungewear – to slice open the envelope with a silver cutting knife, an owl perched on the top.   
  
He pulled out a card with two names handwritten in the same red ink:

Kuroo Tetsurou  
Oikawa Tooru

Neither of those names he recognised. He placed the card atop his laptop and headed into the kitchen.  
  
After a gourmet meal of three-minute yakisoba while checking the news, and making a quick stop in the bathroom to start drawing a bath, he returned to sit himself down in front of his laptop and begin his research. At least in this day and age research was much easier than the days of old when the term ‘legwork’ literally meant walking from one village to the next, asking strings of questions and zigzagging in the direction of one pointed finger to another.  
  
Kuroo was an uncommon name but not rare, although there were no hits on the population database for one paired with Tetsurou. Oikawa Tooru came up with sixty hits, and Akaashi did a quick search online for the name, clicking through various links and photographs, without a clue on which trail he should chase.  
  
He opened up his email, composed a new message and clicked ‘send’.  
  
Akaashi was old-fashioned. In relation to the amount of time he had roamed this earth, the last couple of decades were a blur. There were things he scorned: the increasing number of unhappy faces lined along every train carriage; the diminishing number of independent stores that prided on one-on-one interactions; the contradictory extremes between hoarding and disposing produced by a consumer society.  
  
Of course there were things he appreciated. In this season, hot baths and heating. The instant connection with loved ones (a feature unnecessary for him, but a notion he appreciated all the same). Access to questionable forums and coming across a person going by the name of ‘Calico’ who was far versed than him in the digital world and had skills to conduct swift and thorough searches on any desired target at a flat-rate charge, no questions asked.  
  
The final, extremely specific example, won first place.  
  
At the sound of a short tune signalling his bath was ready, Akaashi left his seat to relax in one of the appreciations in second place.  
  
(At this point, anyone who knew his background would likely question why he spent his immortality pretending to be mortal – a mortal who thrived on the repetitiveness of working at a strenuous, and perhaps even uninspiring, company, leading a humdrum life. His answer would be that after the tumultuousness of the past four hundred years, any sort of monotony was a desirable break.)  
  
As he sank into the hot water, arms wrapped around his knees to draw them close to his body, he imagined what it would be like to be on the receiving end of the thread, to one day wake up and find a knot on his finger and at the other end a stranger with whom he was expected to spend the rest of his life. Knowing what he knew, he would not go against Fate. Yet knowing what he knew, he doubted he would willingly accept the situation.  
  
Was he secretly envious of those clueless mortals who had been tied together?  
  
He closed his eyes and inhaled the forest-scented steam, allowing it to cloud the question into obscurity.  
  
Once out of the bath, dried and changed and a towel draped around his neck, he returned a third time to his laptop and refreshed his inbox – no new messages.  
  
The night was still young at a quarter past ten, but Akaashi was old at heart; with a sigh he closed his laptop and decided to retire to bed.

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

Akaashi’s weekends were as empty as his desire to fully immerse himself in the world. However, on this Saturday he left home early, his whimsy stirred by the mellow morning sun with its head still under the thick blanket, pretending to be asleep, its rays temporarily colouring the white in flaxen-yellow.   
  
That, and also because his day had started well – he had finally received a message from his contact who had given him three matches for Kuroo Tetsurou.  
  
(The first profile was of a 65-year-old, a photo of him smiling with several others of a similar age outside the retirement home where they lived. The second was of a 25-year-old with unusually styled hair standing behind a counter, a shop attendant at a second-hand record store. The third was a 38-year-old posing in front of Big Ben having been temporarily sent abroad by his company. The first was not an impossible match but highly unlikely, the second plausible, the third equally plausible but one Akaashi desperately hoped to avoid – four centuries and he lacked the ability to hold a passable conversation in English (a stubborn protest in the hope that his inability to speak any other language would deter Fate from sending him abroad; he had yet to achieve a positive outcome), not to mention he was still recovering from his last trip abroad.)  
  
Akaashi ambled through the park not five minutes from his home, snug in his black woollen coat and face half buried under his slate cashmere scarf, a stark contrast to the joggers wearing clothes that were coloured in gaudy neon and thinner than his thinnest shirt (a merino undershirt because he liked the softness against his skin). He always wondered how people had the energy to motivate themselves on a day they could be resting. That being said, on this particular day he was one amongst them, making his way across the park to the exit at the other end, where he would then walk down two streets to turn into a small bakery. Although he preferred traditional Japanese cuisine, there were some days when he felt like indulging in the softest warm breads as he drank his tea in peace.  
  
Upon his return, coming up to the park entrance with a paper bag hanging off his wrist, hands firmly in his pockets, he made a mental note of his tasks for the day. He could visit the record store of the second Kuroo Tetsurou and see if he would be a suitable match. And while he was at it, he should also see if there was a leather repair shop nearby—  
  
A jogger leaving the park, who dropped his pace to a power walk, caught his attention. The man would not have stood out had he not looked like he had just stepped out of a sportswear advertisement, his posture tall, not a hair out of place, with just the right amount of sheen coating his face—  
  
He disappeared.  
  
Not even a blink. Akaashi looked around – no sight of the man anywhere, turned behind to check and – there, disappearing around the corner, he spotted him jogging away.  
  
It was the first time he had seen another musubiya at work. He had always known they existed – over seven billion people and he could hardly be the only one ‘privileged’ to work this job – but soulmates were few and far between; there had to be even less who tied them together. He wondered if he would be able to catch up to the man, though he could only envisage them greeting each other awkwardly and then parting ways a little disgruntled. It was best to leave the man to it.  
  
Back to his mental list – he needed to visit a leather repair shop to have the worn strap on his pouch seen to—  
  
Akaashi turned – jumped at coming face-to-face with another and hurriedly took a few steps back to distance himself.  
  
“Sorry – sorry! I… wow.”  
  
Hair spiked up and dyed grey at the roots, panicked expression quickly replaced by a wide smile, eyes brilliant and wide – Akaashi would have expected a bellow than the quiet breathlessness exhaled by the man. A quick look down at his attire – tracksuits, trainers (a thread, he vaguely noted) – suggested this man was also a jogger. Naturally he would be out of breath.  
  
Akaashi shifted his weight, oddly affected under the man’s stare glued to him, feeling hot in the face despite shivering only minutes ago, and the pounding in his chest was as loud as the alarm of something not right buzzing in his brain. He pulled his own gaze free to view the trees growing tall outside the house they stood in front, little white loquat flowers blooming bunched at the centre of thick fanned leaves. When he deemed an appropriate number of seconds had passed, he returned his gaze upon the man who was blinking himself out of the trance.   
  
“May I help you?” Akaashi finally asked.  
  
“Yeah, I’ve – I’ve been looking for you!”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“We’re soulmates!” The man stepped back at his own outburst, holding up his hands. “That sounded like a bad pickup line, let me explain—”  
  
Akaashi frowned, looking down again at the man’s right hand, at the thread tied to his little finger, hanging across the distance between them to—  
  
There was a red thread tied to the little finger of Akaashi’s left hand.  
  
The rest of the man’s continued babbles were lost as Akaashi zoned in on the offending object that had certainly not been there when he had been holding his wallet at the bakery’s cashier while searching for the exact change of 920 yen.  
  
(It offended him doubly that one of his least favourite knots – the handcuff knot – was the musubiya’s choice. Although he knew once the thread was wrapped and tied around the finger it would never come undone, one should not use a knot that would, in reality, loosen. Call him captious, but it was a matter of principle.)  
  
“This—” Akaashi brought his hand closer to his face for inspection; the thread was of a different make, gleaming from the fine gold hairs entwined within the thick, lustrous red. “This cannot be.”  
  
“—and I didn’t think – wait – you can see threads too?”  
  
Akaashi shifted his focus onto the speaker. “Too?”  
  
The man broke into a grin. “Yeah! I’ve always been able to see threads! Can’t pick them up though, it’s like they go right through my fingers.” He glanced back at the park, where another jogger left the grounds. “Haven’t seen anyone else here this morning with threads hanging off them…” He turned back to face Akaashi, grinning even wider. “I’ve never actually met anyone with the same power as me – we really _are_ soulmates!”  
  
Akaashi wanted to deny the last statement, but the evidence was there, tying them together. The question was, when had it happened and who had—  
  
That jogger.  
  
“Hey—!”  
  
Akaashi ran in the direction he had last seen the man – travelling at a light jog so he should be reachable – unless he had picked up pace again – his outfit suggested a habitual runner – therefore he would be faster – how could he possibly catch up – had running always been this much of a struggle—  
  
He managed a minute or so before slowing down, gasping for breath. His chest was tight, almost painful, as he forced air in and out of his lungs.  
  
“Why did you run?”  
  
Akaashi turned to find that man – _soulmate_ – jogging up to a stop behind him; seeing the earlier smile replaced with an unhappy shadow darkening the lines on his face squeezed Akaashi’s chest.  
  
Akaashi’s sudden flight had caused the pain. Not a physical pain from the burst of exercise – an emotional reaction from the man.  
  
It was a known fact that soulmates shared echoes of emotions, that niggle of something not quite right, the rush of unexpected elation. What he had not known was just how strong emotions were reflected onto the other. Or it could have been that he was more susceptible, or that the man’s emotions were stronger than average.  
  
To prove his theory correct, Akaashi attempted to placate the man. “I was hoping to catch up to someone I thought I recognised before your arrival.”  
  
The man’s eyes widened. “So you weren’t trying to run away from me?”  
  
Akaashi gave a small shake of the head.  
  
“I thought for a second you didn’t like the look of me and made a run for it!”  
  
Akaashi’s breathing became less of a struggle, although not quite expanding to full capacity.   
  
Then he felt another pain, dull and downcast.  
  
“But I stopped you from finding them… hey, we should go find them! They’re probably not far!”  
  
Akaashi straightened, his breathing relatively steady. “It would be fruitless now. And as you may be able to tell, my stamina is quite meagre—”  
  
“You shouldn’t give up! What do they look like?”  
  
“It really is not of importance,” Akaashi insisted, wondering how many times he was going to have to reassure him. He tried to think of any excuse that would stop the questioning. “He must be living in this area if he is jogging, in which case our paths are sure to cross again.”  
  
The man opened his mouth as if to push on, but betrayed Akaashi’s expectation when he said, “If you say so.” He smiled sheepishly. “Do you have time to get coffee? Or tea? Or if you’re hungry we can go somewhere to get a bite to – oh, but it looks like you’ve already got something...”  
  
The man’s frown deepened as he tried to come up with an excuse that would have Akaashi agree to spending time with him.  
  
Akaashi’s initial reaction was to reject the man. He wanted time to process, needed to understand what was happening and if possible, discuss this with the one man who would know what was happening – Sawamura.  
  
Akaashi opened his mouth, about to say something to that effect when he recalled there was a café within the park grounds along the way. Soulmate or not, he was not yet comfortable inviting a complete stranger to his home, but a warm drink in a public space would be acceptable. Besides, it would not be inaccurate to say he wished to gain a better understanding of this man tied to him.  
  
“If you wish, you may join me for a drink at the park café.”  
  
The man’s face lit up – but that was probably from the sun finally deciding to peer round from behind the clouds, its rays shining down onto him. “Really?”  
  
Akaashi’s heart pulsed, and a faint bouncing emotion filled the offbeat.  
  
“I would not have asked if I was not serious.” He walked past the man, who quickly pulled himself up beside him, his pace a touch slower with his wider steps, mindful to keep in time.  
  
The café was an elongated building at the corner of the park, cosy and serving wholesome food; a waiter with a warm smile greeted them as they entered and led them towards a table by the window, the view outside decorated with glittered snowflake stickers. They took their seats and the thread also lowered gently to settle across the table.  
  
Akaashi expected the man to fill the silence that fell between them. Indeed, he had seen the man open his mouth as if to do so several times between them perusing the menu and awaiting the arrival of their orders – royal milk tea and buttered toast, hot chocolate and apple cinnamon muffin. Yet the man said nothing and, more strangely, continued to stare at him like he was a newly-discovered specimen, which, although not quite off the mark, was not a manner Akaashi would describe as polite when interacting with someone for the first time. There was also constant rustling as the man jittered his leg, and what had been faint excitement was verging on nervous spasms that interfered with Akaashi’s own heartbeat.  
  
This would not do _._  
  
Akaashi waited until their orders arrived and the waiter was out of earshot before initiating their conversation.   
  
“My name is Akaashi Keiji.”  
  
The man startled into stillness. “Right – names! I’m Bokuto Koutarou! It’s nice to meet you!”  
  
“Likewise.” Akaashi momentarily dwelled on the accuracy of his automatic reply. “Would you mind first sharing how you found me? I believe you said you had been looking for me.”  
  
“Sure! So yesterday during work – I work as a barista at a coffee shop in Shibuya, you know, that big one at the corner of the crossing – I took my break around five and went to the changing room to grab my phone from my bag, when I saw this” – Bokuto raised his right hand – “tied to my hand. They must’ve tied it just before my break ’cause I hadn’t noticed anything while making the drinks or passing them over.”   
  
Bokuto lowered his hand back onto the table and with it his attention, trying to pluck at the thread, each forceful touch causing it to dissolve and re-emerge once left alone as if it had never been disturbed.   
  
Akaashi was on the verge of advising him to curb his strength when Bokuto held out his free hand and draped the thread on top, at least able to feel the thread on his palm.   
  
Interesting.  
  
Akaashi had used the same technique during the early years when he too was unable to pinch the threads; he had held the ball in his hand and formed a knot with embarrassingly clumsy sweeping motions (which he was grateful no one ever saw).  
  
Bokuto shook his hand and the thread momentarily disappeared, then reappeared again on the table. He looked up. “I don’t know how it happened, didn’t see anyone come in or touch me or anything. And then this morning I headed out – it’s funny actually, ’cause I checked the time as I stepped out and it said twelve past five, which is the train I usually take to get to my early morning shifts! But anyway, I couldn’t sleep thinking about who was on the other end and had to make a start on finding them, and – well, it led me to you!”  
  
It was a shame Bokuto had not left at eleven minutes past, he would have been able to confront the man in possession of the ball of thread.  
  
“You work as a barista?” Akaashi asked. It was unlikely Bokuto was that much older than Akaashi’s outward appearance of mid-twenties, so it was curious why he had chosen such a profession.  
  
“That’s right – I wanted to use my powers for good! If I worked at one of the busiest coffee shops in Japan I’m bound to meet a lot of people, right? So when I see someone with a thread I tell them they’ve got a soulmate and to trust their instincts when they feel that pull. Nothing special, but you’d be surprised how often I get a smile. And better to plant a seed in their head if they’re a non-believer!”  
  
“That is—” Akaashi quickly sifted through words and came up with nothing satisfactory. “That is rather... nice of you,” he finished weakly.  
  
“I can’t do much,” Bokuto continued, his smile a touch softer. “Right at the beginning when I decided to do this, I tried to help someone out by following the thread’s trail – it took me to Odaiba and I saw it carry on into the ocean!”  
  
“Ah, yes. There is no guarantee that soulmates would be contained within the same country.”  
  
“Yeah, I should’ve seen that one coming.” Bokuto took a sip of his drink, made a small, happily surprised humming sound, then set it aside and leaned forward. “Anyway, what about you, Akaashi?”  
  
Akaashi also lifted his cup, inhaling the tea’s aroma before taking a sip to wet his mouth with the milky sweet drink. “I work in an office for a transportation company. It is bland but sufficiently supports my lifestyle.”  
  
“And what about the threads? When did you realise?”  
  
“I have been able to see them… ever since I can remember.” He commended himself on the accuracy of his misinformation.  
  
“Me too! People thought I was crazy when I asked what all the red threads were doing on the floor and hanging off people’s fingers. I learnt quick to stop mentioning them but I always wanted to know. In the first year of uni I went to this famous fortune-teller in Shinjuku and I don’t know how she guessed, but she asked if I could see soulmate threads! She even told me a little about them too.”  
  
Akaashi had heard about those people who made a living off their abilities. Again, few and far between, and he had not met any personally, but he knew the rumours. He much preferred Bokuto’s way of working, using his skills as a gift to others, not personal gain, which was enough for Akaashi to form an opinion that he was a selfless man. He could not say if he felt anything remotely affectionate because of it, but it did add another brushstroke in Bokuto’s favour.  
  
“What did she say?”  
  
Bokuto frowned in concentration, counting off on his fingers. “Not everyone has one, you can cut it but you’ll die, you can feel each others’ emotions and – this is my favourite – there’s a little soulmate fairy that does the tying!”  
  
Akaashi did not appreciate being referred to as a fairy.  
  
“That last one is a lie,” he said, unable to stop himself from correcting this misconception. “And you do not in fact die from having the thread cut.”  
  
Bokuto squinted at him. “How do you know?”  
  
“I… too had a fortune-teller share details about the threads.” Fate was technically a fortune-teller, it was not a feeble lie.  
  
Instead of Bokuto turning their introduction into a heated debate, he broke out into a grin.   
  
Akaashi was beginning to grasp a pattern; at the exact moment of Bokuto’s smile, Akaashi’s heartbeat would jolt out of line from its regular rhythm.  
  
Akaashi frowned a little in reply, eyeing him suspiciously. “What do you find so amusing?”  
  
“It’s funny how we’ve got all these weird things in common. I’m really happy you’re my soulmate, Akaashi.”  
  
Akaashi’s mind went blank.  
  
Bokuto’s expression shifted to panic. “Oh no, I didn’t – you don’t have to think the same! I know it takes time for some people to get over the shock of something new – I should’ve thought about that before I asked you – maybe we should do this another time—”  
  
“Bokuto-san.”  
  
It was the first time Akaashi addressed the man by name and Bokuto stopped, staring intently at Akaashi, ready to hang onto each of his following words.  
  
Bokuto was his soulmate. Akaashi had not asked for one – certainly not a loud, animated, energised one whose moods dipped as quickly as they soared – so Akaashi had to think of a way to gently bend the truth—  
  
But what was the truth, and did it need bending? What were his first impressions of him?  
  
“I do not know you yet,” Akaashi said slowly. “And as I have not yet come to terms with the situation in its entirety I cannot say without reservation that I am ‘happy’, however – it would also not be untrue to say that I am not, to some extent, not happy by our encounter.”  
  
Bokuto frowned, mouthing Akaashi’s words back to himself as he untangled the knots in his sentence.  
  
It was not Akaashi’s fault he spoke in a convoluted manner, he was Japanese, and an antiquated one at that, it was in his nature to screen the true meaning of his intentions (only for his intentions; he had no qualms pointing out directly other people’s flaws or schemes).  
  
“So... you might be a little happy... but you can’t be completely happy when you don’t know me that well... so that means if you got to know me... you could end up being... fully happy?” Bokuto said, watching Akaashi for his response.  
  
“Your paraphrasis is more or less correct.”  
  
Bokuto beamed at him. “Then let’s meet up again tomorrow!”  
  
Akaashi blinked at the dazzling smile. “Tomorrow?”   
  
“Do you have plans?” Bokuto asked cautiously.  
  
Under the table, Akaashi fingered the thread. “I... do not.”  
  
“Great! Let’s go somewhere, get to know each other some more! Unless… you don’t want to?”  
  
Akaashi tried to pull at the thread, to twist and turn it, and pull it on and off his finger – except it would not dislodge even a millimetre out of position; for some reason, the ring of red immediately around the finger never disappeared, no matter how hard it was pressed. So he returned to his usual manner of rubbing the fingers of his right hand, an undesirable habit he had picked up at some point in time that he was also unable to dislodge when it brought him mental security.  
  
There were things that needed tending to, mainly researching and making progress on his assignment.  
  
Yet he was still waiting on an answer. And to say he had work was a weak excuse, when he was never truly free from his assignments – he would technically have to reject every invitation ever made.  
  
It was one day. He ignored that it was one day out of the rest to follow with his newfound soulmate.  
  
“Bokuto-san... I will agree to spending time with you tomorrow.”

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

The following day when Akaashi exited the ticket gates at Ueno station he immediately recognised Bokuto standing in front of the large park map across the road, even with his back turned to him. Akaashi slowed his steps – someone bumped into his shoulder to push him stumbling an additional two steps forward – and he made his way at least to the edge of the road where he waited for the lights to turn green.  
  
He had spent the whole of the previous day researching musubiya in the hope of finding a loose thread of information to follow (not at all in an effort to put his mind at ease from the surprise binding or to push Bokuto out of his mind); all results came up blank, and this was one question he could not have his usual contact research for him.  
  
And then the evening was something entirely unexpected, being unable to sleep from nerves wired and tingling, and the pounding in his chest that beat just out of synchronisation with his own pulse. This continued until exactly 2:11 when it began to ease, and by 2:38 it had levelled before fading into the background; by this time Akaashi had gotten so used to the emotional turbulence that instead the nighttime silence pinned him down, forcing him to confront each of his concerns.  
  
Thankfully, sleep had pulled him in at some point because in the next moment he was jolting awake with an inexplicable feeling of something exciting awaiting him, and it took several more moments of calming his racing heart and tremulous hands for him to remember why.  
  
“Akaashi! You made it!”  
  
Akaashi snapped out of his thoughts, noticing Bokuto waving frantically at him and realising the green man was flashing in warning; he crossed quickly, and waited until he was within Bokuto’s earshot to speak.  
  
“Did you not think I would?”  
  
“ _I_ did! Kuroo said you’d stand me up. Oh” – Bokuto glanced behind him – “this is Kuroo. He wanted to... meet you.”  
  
Akaashi had not noticed the man sitting down on the stone wall, but he became alert as soon as he heard the name and doubly so when he saw ‘Kuroo’ look up and give a casual wave that was a mismatch to his cutting stare; the photographs on the profiles he had received had not been clear, but this man’s hairstyle bore an uncanny resemblance to that of the 25-year old.   
  
Could it be...?  
  
Kuroo shifted his gaze to Bokuto “I’m just looking out for my best friend.”  
  
“He’s my soulmate! And I told you already, he’s really nice!”  
  
Kuroo snorted. “You told me a lot of things besides ‘nice’,” he said, giving Akaashi a once over and flashing a grin. “Anyway, a guy can be nice and still be a weirdo.”  
  
Had it been a different era, the look would have had Akaashi drawing his sword and resting it against his throat – he supposed he had mellowed with time.   
  
That, and he was no longer permitted to carry a weapon on his person.  
  
Akaashi put aside his offence. He had a job to do.  
  
“It is a pleasure to meet you. My full name is Akaashi Keiji if you wish to do a comprehensive search on my background, or else hire a detective to do one on your behalf, although it would be far easier on both you and your wallet to direct any queries you may have to me so that I may personally assist in bringing you peace of mind.”  
  
Seconds of silence passed – Kuroo broke out into a chuckle.  
  
“Akaashi Keiji, huh. I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.” He turned to Bokuto. “He’s a hot weirdo—”  
  
“Kuroo!”  
  
“—my bad, a pretty _—”_

“ _Kuroo!_ ”

“ _—nice_ weirdo. Of the good kind. I give you my blessing.”  
  
How easy. All too easy. It had the reverse effect of making Akaashi extremely suspicious, but for now he would check off the first name on his assignment.  
  
Kuroo pushed himself up with a grunt. “Yeah, and now my work here’s done, I’ll get out of your hair.”  
  
Bokuto turned to him. “I thought you said you were coming!”  
  
“To check what he’s like, which I’ve now done. Bokuto, I’m not being the third wheel of your soulmate date—”  
  
As the two began quibbling, Akaashi slipped his hand under his coat and the flap of his pouch, fingers just touching the smooth metal curve until he could feel the knurls—   
  
And he remembered Bokuto.  
  
Bokuto was able to see threads. And should one suddenly manifest on Kuroo’s hand he would be intent on finding his partner immediately. And as Akaashi had yet to find the identity of one Oikawa Tooru, the thread would lead straight to Akaashi’s pouch. And that would require Akaashi to explain himself, which he was not sure he wanted to do quite yet.  
  
He removed his hand. Still, there was a silver lining to this setback – Kuroo was reachable, all Akaashi had to do was organise another meeting via Bokuto.  
  
“Remember kids – have fun, stay safe. You especially, Akaashi, he’s a handful.” Kuroo winked at Akaashi before walking into the stream of crowds.  
  
“He’s just joking!” Bokuto insisted, waving his arms like he was denying something. He then pulled out a rolled up pamphlet from his back pocket, waving it at Akaashi. “Are you sure you’re okay with the plan?”  
  
The plan being visiting a food fair held at the centre of the park. More specifically, a meat fair.  
  
“I would not have agreed otherwise.”  
  
Akaashi was not much of a meat eater. It was oily and sat heavily in his stomach making him lethargic, and he disliked the feeling of being weighed down.  
  
But Bokuto had been passionate over the idea when suggesting it at the café, and also as they walked now, enthusiastically flipping through the pamphlet with photographs of the meats offered by the various stands – yakiniku, yakitori, beef stew, steak, hamburgers, beef bowls, ramen, curry… the list ran along two columns on all eight sides.  
  
The pamphlet was thrust into Akaashi’s face, along with Bokuto’s indecisive finger pointing between two photographs. “Which do you think is better, the wagyu sushi or wagyu bowl?”  
  
Akaashi leaned back so the photographs were in focus. To him, the meat looked the same, the difference being only in presentation.  
  
“There is the option of eating both.”  
  
“I can’t eat both, not when I’m eating the roast chicken, and the hamburger, and obviously the yakiniku – _lots_ of the yakiniku!” And with that Bokuto returned to humming and harring over his choices.  
  
It turned out Bokuto could eat quite a lot when it came to meat, and do so at a pace that was close to, but not quite, inhaling – rather he would stuff his mouth with as much food as he was physically able and chomp on it a few times before swallowing. Akaashi chewed slowly on his steak hot dog (half of which he had given to Bokuto ‘to taste’), intrigued by the way Bokuto finished off each meal with a remark that he was so stuffed he couldn’t think about eating another bite, only to rush to queue at a new stand that served a novel dish he had to taste.  
  
During the wait at the seventh stand, Akaashi’s gaze left Bokuto to travel around the festivities. A number of threads could be seen hanging from fingers, a few suspended but most dropping to the floor, trailing to their distant destinations. A couple passed by with one hanging between them; Akaashi checked the thread and noted from its thickness that it was not his doing.  
  
“I love it when I see people together.”  
  
Akaashi looked up to find Bokuto’s gaze following the couple.  
  
“Just knowing there are people out there who aren’t totally alone. And they don’t have proof but they know that whatever happens they’ll always come back to each other.”  
  
Had he been fresh on the job, Akaashi may have found the thought heart-warming. But time had desensitised him and work forced him to sweep away the stardust, leaving only a grey shadow of indifference.  
  
Indifference from seeing the threads, indifference from life.  
  
Or would it be more accurate to say _had_ felt. Because currently he was feeling a flutter that generated fondness, almost making him want to agree.  
  
“Had you believed before our union that you would be amongst those assigned a soulmate?”  
  
Bokuto nibbled on one of the skewered steak pieces. “I wanted to,” he finally said, tugging it off and chewing a few times before saying with his mouth full, “I always thought, ‘I’m ready for one!’ in case it was one of those things you had to want really strongly.”  
  
“What about on the day you found the thread attached to you?”  
  
Bokuto swallowed, his smile suddenly shy. “I served a woman with a thread tied to her finger. I said to her, ‘I’ve got a feeling you’ve got yourself a soulmate, and my feeling’s always right when it comes to these things’. She laughed it off, but I think she wanted to believe me. After I gave her the drink she said she hoped I’d get the same feeling for myself.”  
  
“What a thoughtful sentiment.”  
  
“But I also thought – who decides who gets a soulmate? When? How? Why?”  
  
Akaashi looked aside. “I assume whoever is responsible for assigning – Fate, for example. Or perhaps Fate is merely following orders issued by the souls who wish to be together.”  
  
Akaashi replayed that last comment that slipped effortlessly out. He had always assumed Fate to be the one who made the decision on who were brought together, but what if what he said was true? What if Fate was merely following orders?  
  
Bokuto stretched out his hand, admiring his knot from a distance. “I like that. Maybe we already decided before we were born that we’d be together, and when both of us were ready they tied the thread so we’d be able to find each other easier.” He turned to Akaashi. “What do you think?”  
  
His theory aligned with the musubiya’s work. It was interesting to think that the thread was not a symbol to indicate they were destined for each other – they had already been destined. Instead it was a way for them to be drawn to the pulls, to trust their emotions and follow the invisible trail until they stood facing each other, or sat side by side, or bumped into each other from behind.  
  
Then it begged the question – at what point had he been ready?  
  
Akaashi remembered he was being asked a question and looked up, about to answer when something else caught his attention.   
  
“Bokuto-san, there is oil dripping onto your shirt.”  
  
“What?” Bokuto glanced down and unzipped his coat further to gain a better look. “ _Argh – no_ —!”   
  
As Bokuto tried rubbing at it with his thumb, Akaashi held out his napkin, which Bokuto grabbed with a ‘thanks’, dabbing it on his tongue before further frantically rubbing at the dark blotches.  
  
He then went on to lament that this was his favourite button-up – navy with tiny great horned owls scattered and hovering in all directions, the last one that had been available in his size and extremely lucky, as it helped him pass his exams and driving test, and once even let him win a ticket for an all-you-can-eat meal at one of the best yakiniku chains in Tokyo.  
  
Akaashi smiled; neither a twitch nor a curl, neither doubtful nor pained – a genuine smile that almost hurt his cheeks to hold in place, an outward expression of his inner affection which he could not, and did not want to, shake off for it to be replaced by indifference.

“Is there anywhere you want to go?”  
  
After the brief oil-dripping fiasco (Akaashi glanced again at the oil stains that would go unnoticed to anyone else who were unaware) they ambled away from the fair towards the less busy road leading to the museums.  
  
In answer to Bokuto’s question, there was. They were currently walking in the direction towards the place Akaashi had in mind. But would be the type of place Bokuto would want to—  
  
“Say whatever comes to your head!” Bokuto said, louder, like he was trying to drown out Akaashi’s reservations. “Where do you want to go?”  
  
When he was addressed so directly, and loudly, it was difficult for him to deny the truth. “I suppose… if you are without time restriction and would not be averse to the idea, there is one place I have been curious about visiting. It is—”  
  
“You know what, don’t tell me, just lead the way!”  
  
There was humour in the way Bokuto contradicted his words, pulling at Akaashi’s hand and forcing him to pick up pace to keep up with the broad strides. Akaashi was considering pointing this out, but they were heading in the right direction, so he decided to keep this observation unmentioned.  
  
“Hey, look at that!” Bokuto pointed to the building ahead a few minutes later. “Want to check it out?”  
  
Akaashi viewed the banner draped across the building, the exhibition name brushed in black calligraphy: Sengoku Period.  
  
“This was where I intended to take you,” Akaashi murmured.  
  
“So I did get it right!”  
  
Akaashi threw a quizzical look at the man who seemed all too pleased with himself.  
  
“I wanted to see if I could tell from your emotions – you’re really hard to read! But then I caught this faint ripple like you were excited and it grew stronger so I guessed I was heading the right way.”  
  
The statement took Akaashi aback. Bokuto’s emotions were loud and more often than not pushed Akaashi’s emotions aside, yet here he effortlessly perceived them, quite a feat when his emotions were as still and obscured as a lake on a moonless night.  
  
However, Akaashi was not excited, at least not in the sense Bokuto imagined. Disquieted. Unsettled. Nerves could be easily mistaken for excitement. But there was positive excitement bubbling up from the depths and Akaashi put his focus on this widened range of emotions that had gone unfelt for a very long time.   
  
(And maybe, had never been felt at all.)  
  
The museum was as expected, several lines at the front desk that merged into a single queue snaking all the way from the entrance to the exit; wanderers and stragglers were frowned at when they darted away en route to follow whatever piqued their fancy. Of course there were large rooms that were free-for-roaming, where everyone could go where they pleased, but they were expected to have returned to the trail by the next room.  
  
Akaashi was a man firmly of the former group, the one who followed the numbers of the plaques (not that he had a need for guides when he already knew the original uses and had seen them in action first-hand). Bokuto, he was not surprised to find, was a naturally curious wanderer.  
  
So he was torn between following the sombre procession and the embodiment of excitement dashing about the displays. Where possible he wanted to avoid strangers’ eyes, so Akaashi decided to temporarily take his leave to gently redirect Bokuto to the shuffling.  
  
Bokuto was staring up at the full armour, his phone about to drop out of his grasp as he focused on the display, forgetting all about taking photographs.  
  
“I must admit I was concerned this would not be to your liking,” Akaashi said, approaching to stand next to him, their thread tightening with proximity.  
  
Bokuto turned his head and the excitement bubbled in him again. “What are you saying – I love this kind of stuff, it’s so cool, all the armour and the weapons! I loved pretending to be a warrior when I was a kid!”  
  
The corner of Akaashi’s mouth twitched. “I do not doubt that.”  
  
As he turned, he caught a glimpse of red from the display behind, and pushed past Bokuto, his chatter on the various scenes from his play dissolving. He glanced aside once as he neared; had he been following the orderly line there would be a high chance he would have walked past without noticing, the queue moving along the edge of the room instead of weaving between all the casings.  
  
Akaashi stopped in front of the glass, behind which was a flag, muddied and tattered, a crimson rectangle with a single character of ‘five’ in white.   
  
All traces of his previous life had been erased but there were certain times when he felt drawn to objects or places, which filled him with a longing for something past.   
  
This was one of them.  
  
“You’re sad.”  
  
Akaashi turned to find Bokuto coming to stand beside him.  
  
“Do you think so?”  
  
Bokuto hummed as he thought of a reply. “I feel so.” He leaned forward to the description. “‘Messenger’s flag’,” he read out loud.  
  
“It was carried by messengers riding on horseback to relay orders amongst generals during battle. The character also has an alternative meaning of comradeship. It was a position given out of utmost trust.”  
  
“It’s the first time I’ve felt something strong from you, so it must mean a lot to you,” Bokuto said thoughtfully. “But even then it feels like your emotion’s in the background. Is that what it feels like to you when you feel my emotions?”  
  
If he shared he felt Bokuto’s emotions almost as a second emotion, Bokuto might initially be happy that they were so similar, then grow anxious that he was being too overbearing. Akaashi sank further into his thoughts – or rather feelings, currently a faint echo that was neutral – to unearth a more suitable comparison.  
  
“Sometimes they are comparable to the elements, other times natural phenomena. At this moment they resemble a melody and harmony, switching between your emotions acting as an accompaniment to mine, or my emotions fading to the background to allow yours to fill my being. I… would not say I dislike these feelings.”  
  
Akaashi quickly turned, taking steps towards the next piece, feeling like he had revealed too much.  
  
“You do that a lot.”  
  
He stopped. He rubbed his hand once, and slowly turned to face Bokuto whose humour was gone as he stared at Akaashi as if trying to read his mind.  
  
“Do what exactly?” Akaashi asked.  
  
“Use this” – Bokuto waved his hand – “roundabout way of saying how you feel.”  
  
“It is a habit formed long ago out of necessity. My mannerisms are too embedded in me to be suddenly altered.”  
  
“It’s not hard, you just... shake the words up and pick something different. Give it a try.”  
  
There was something about Bokuto that made Akaashi want to fulfil the unspoken request that he give 100% of himself – it would not have come as a surprise if Bokuto expected more.   
  
Akaashi took slow steps back to his earlier position in front of the display, and looked up to the flag.  
  
“Regarding this piece, I am reminded of a memory long forgotten and out of reach. I would pinpoint the emotion to pensive – perhaps even wistful. It is not that I need to remember, and it does not bother me not to – ah, that should be altered, allow me to try again. I am content to lay the memory to rest, yet I wonder – _why_. As both terms are defined by melancholy which in its basest form is sadness, your presumption would be correct. I... do feel sad.”  
  
There was a dull twisting in his chest that accompanied his words, but it was unclear to whom it belonged.  
  
“As for my impression towards our entangling emotions—”  
  
Akaashi shot a side glance in Bokuto’s direction, ardent eyes locked onto him, and down at the thread hanging between them, the short distance from the little bow around his slender finger to the other around the thicker and sturdier.   
  
The pounding in his chest crescendoed, with a quiet quiver between anticipation and dismissal playing in the background.  
  
“I like the way it feels,” Akaashi finally said, softly, almost inaudibly, as he returned his attention to the display. “I like the way you make me feel.”  
  
From the thumping that shook his bones and reverberated through his being he almost missed fingers brushing and resting on his skin, pausing, waiting.  
  
Had they not known they were meant to be together, they would have spent today treading around each other, dipping their toes to test the waters too cold to brave stepping in. Bokuto, as lively and sociable as he may be, would not have been so forward, and Akaashi would have remained hiding behind his barrier, occasionally peering around the edge only to make a hasty retreat.  
  
But they already knew what they were to each other. And while normally reserved, Akaashi’s body responded for his head, fingers aligning themselves to slot between the gaps and Bokuto did the rest, curling his fingers until he was holding Akaashi’s hand.  
  
It took some time getting used to the warm touch, but Akaashi eventually relaxed his hand, letting it curl around Bokuto’s like it was the most natural position in the world.

They viewed the remainder of the exhibition and decided to end their day there, returning to the station – Akaashi was not as surprised as Bokuto to find they lived on the same line. As soon as the train pulled up and opened its doors, Bokuto rushed to grab the empty seats at the corner of the carriage and when Akaashi came to sit beside him, Bokuto took his hand again, tucking their held hands slightly behind their bodies, out of sight. Bokuto insisted on taking Akaashi back to his home station only four stops before his own; Akaashi refused once out of politeness and accepted at the second insistence.  
  
Bokuto talked for the both of them, of what Akaashi would have considered nothing in particular had it been two days ago. As it were, he held fast onto the conversation, inputting his opinion whenever prompted with hardly any hesitation, and the name of his station was being announced far too soon.   
  
They walked from the platform to the ticket gates, and just before exiting Akaashi stopped.  
  
“Thank you very much for today and for accompanying me to the exhibition,” he said, turning to Bokuto. “I had been wanting to see it for some time.”  
  
In truth, he had been wary of going alone, not knowing how he would react when the subject was too close to his heart.  
  
“I really enjoyed it! Maybe we can do it again? Spend time together, not go to the exhibition. Though I won’t say no if you want to go again!”  
  
“Once is sufficient,” Akaashi said with a small smile. “I did not not enjoy today, therefore I would not be against the idea of us meeting again.”  
  
Bokuto narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” he asked, although his grin revealed he already knew the answer.  
  
“Good night, Bokuto-san. It was a pleasure spending time with you.”  
  
Akaashi turned his back to Bokuto knowing that should he stay a second longer, he would be wrapped up in another conversation that would likely have them standing by the gates until the last trains. But he knew there was no need to worry about causing offence – his heart, pleasantly warmed, told him so.

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

Akaashi was unable to see Bokuto the following week, his work picking up to make him remain in the office so late he returned home close to midnight. Bokuto’s shifts too that had already been scheduled took up most days and unfortunately the following weekend. They messaged however – Bokuto between breaks and Akaashi picking up his phone to check for replies while reaching for his tea. On Thursday, Bokuto rang just as Akaashi stepped inside the entrance of his home with the reason he had to hear Akaashi’s voice. And Akaashi, though he may not have divulged his admittance, had actually missed the sound of Bokuto’s as well.  
  
It was on the Friday night when Akaashi checked his email and found his long-awaited response.  
  
_There were two – I narrowed it down to one. Let me know if there’s a problem._  
  
Akaashi opened the file and his eyes widened immediately.  
  
The photo on the profile matched the appearance of the time-skipping jogger – Oikawa Tooru.  
  
He checked the address – a few blocks away on the opposite side of the park, in the same direction Oikawa had been heading when Akaashi watched him disappear around the corner.  
  
A long exhale escaped his lips as he leaned back in his chair. Two musubiya living at the same station, within walking distance from each other. This had to be one of Fate’s games.  
  
He shook the thought clear. He had no means of seizing Fate and he had long learnt the lesson where the more he desired answers, the further they ran from his reach. Therefore, his first priority was to think of a method to approach this jogger without being recognised.

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

Akaashi returned to the park the following day, an hour earlier than the week prior. He sat at one of the outside tables of the café he and Bokuto spent their first meeting, with the rim of his cup pressed against his lips and occasionally taking a sip of tea that was rapidly cooling, while his other hand held a magazine open on a page that continued to be unread, just looked over the top so he could stare down the runners passing by.  
  
It took an additional forty minutes – magazine abandoned, cup empty but still in his hand – when Akaashi spotted him with the same clothes and styled hair, fast approaching. Had Akaashi tried to run after him he would be left stranded on the track in seconds.   
  
But Akaashi had his special ability and the plan was clear in his head – press the button, run up to Oikawa, tie the knot, disappear. At least, disappear for a short while until Oikawa followed the trail and caught up with him, in which case it would be too late because the thread would have been tied.  
  
Akaashi put down his cup and reached into his pouch, wrapping his hand around the cold metal then pressing the button.  
  
Oikawa continued to run.  
  
Akaashi frowned, pressed again firmly.  
  
Oikawa passed him by.  
  
He pulled out the stopwatch and pushed the button several more times, and the joggers continued to run past.  
  
“Of all the times,” Akaashi muttered. He glared at the watch accusingly, the light hitting the metal at an angle to make it wink.

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

He returned at the same time the following day, in his prime position armed with his lukewarm tea and the same magazine (on a different page), continuing his lookout.  
  
His stopwatch had never been temperamental, refusing to stop time for any of his assignments, so the natural conclusion Akaashi arrived at was that it was broken. But as he was not certain if yesterday had been a glitch, he decided to give it one more chance before resorting to his yet-to-be-hatched second plan.   
  
Another ten minutes and the man was running around again, and Akaashi pressed the button once more.  
  
Once again, the world continued to move.  
  
He sighed and glared down at his stopwatch.  
  
This was going to be a pesky problem. The stopwatch was not exactly one that could be taken into any shop and asked to have repaired, and he had no means of getting in touch with Sawamura. There was the option of asking Oikawa to stand still while Akaashi tied the thread onto his finger, although he had a feeling this plan was not going to be taken well—  
  
“Why don’t you try again?”  
  
Akaashi’s head snapped up to find Oikawa slipping into the seat opposite, a smug grin on his face as he pulled out his earphones.  
  
“Two days in a row and in the same seat, my thread hanging off your finger. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten you already, _Akaashi-chan_ , it’s only been one week and I had to dig _very_ deep to find out about you.”  
  
Akaashi pressed the button once more.  
  
Oikawa rested his chin on his hands.   
  
“Oh dear – has Akaashi-chan’s stopwatch stopped watching out for him?”  
  
He tried a few more times – still nothing.  
  
“I don’t want to sound presumptuous, but I do get this tiny feeling you’re desperate to tie that thread onto my little finger. How about you try without relying on that broken thing, hm?”  
  
Akaashi could tell that while Oikawa’s physique did not emanate strength, his cocky confidence was not for show; someone who spent his days – probably every single one of his days – more probably every single one of his days for many, many of his unaging years – running would undeniably be at peak fitness. Comparing that to Akaashi’s exercise of brisk walks to and from work and leisurely strolls on the weekends, and there was absolutely no chance of him holding Oikawa down long enough to tie a thread.  
  
“I can only assume by your derisive tone you are reluctant to be tied down,” Akaashi said. The cold must have cooled his lungs too because his words sounded a touch chilled.  
  
“Ten out of ten for perception.”  
  
Akaashi decided to give the man’s ego a shake and monitor the outcome. “Would that be because you are afraid?”  
  
Oikawa barked a laugh. “Preserving my freedom to explore isn’t driven by fear, and neither’s my objection to having a complete stranger hanging off my finger to drag around like a dead weight while I resume my mortal life only to welcome death.”  
  
Akaashi frowned. “Resume your mortal life? Could you elaborate?”  
  
Crossing his arms with a huff, Oikawa looked aside. “I know you’re not a fresh recruit, I’ve managed to date you back to at least the Edo period.” He slid his gaze back to Akaashi. “How do you not know the full workings of what we do?”  
  
“Could you please elaborate?” Akaashi hoped the additional supplication would quench the attention-seeker’s thirst.  
  
He received a big sigh and a roll of the eyes. “Once a musubiya has been tied, their body clock restarts. How on earth do you expect to live out your life with your soulmate when one would die and the other carry on living? Not everything in the world has to be doom and gloom.”  
  
Akaashi glanced to his little finger. He had no idea that time frozen within had thawed without notice.  
  
He looked up to Oikawa. “I have no intention of abandoning my assignment.”  
  
“And you’ll manage without your watch how?”  
  
“I will speak to Sawamura-san and see to it that it is either repaired or replaced.”  
  
“Sawamura – that’s what Fate’s going by nowadays? You know very well communication’s one sided. And even if you had it repaired or replaced, you have to remember – you’re now a mortal, Akaashi-chan. The stopwatch only works for someone working in our – I’m sorry – _my_ field of expertise.”  
  
Akaashi would definitely need confirmation from Sawamura on his status. “Whether or not that is truly the case remains to be seen, but you are still my assignment. I have not yet failed and I do not intend to start failing, nor end on a failed note if what you say is correct.”  
  
Oikawa shook his head and threw him a pitying smile. “Are you sure you want to throw away your life by chasing after one little assignment instead of concentrating on your soulmate? I think I might actually feel a little sorry for Bokkun.” He slipped out of his chair. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I actually have things to be getting on with – a musubiya’s work is never done. I’m sure you understand.”  
  
Oikawa pushed his earphones back in and waved at Akaashi with a knowing grin before resuming his run.  
  
There was no time to think as the phone in his pocket began to vibrate. Akaashi pulled it out, noting Bokuto’s name before picking up.  
  
“ _Akaashi—!_ ” Akaashi held the phone at a distance, frowning at the volume he was afraid would echo to be heard across the peaceful park. “ _Are you okay?!_ ”  
  
At the lowered volume of Bokuto’s follow-up question, Akaashi brought the phone close to his ear. “Good morning, Bokuto-san. It is very early – is something the matter?”  
  
“ _I’m about to head into work and I just felt like you were – I dunno – annoyed? Angry?_ ”  
  
Akaashi checked his own heart – it was beating fast, but he doubted anger was the cause; he put it down to Bokuto’s concern.  
  
“I am perfectly fine. If you felt any… undesirable emotion, I suspect it was due to the contretemps I just—”  
  
“ _The what?_ ”  
  
Akaashi sighed. “An unfortunate happenstance.” He paused, then added, “A bad meeting—”  
  
“ _This early on a Sunday?! Oh, ’cause of time difference – was it like a conference call? I hate it when a meeting goes bad, it totally ruins your motivation. We had this one the other day – the manager was basically telling us we’re too slow with our orders, and I get that we’re really busy, but that doesn’t mean we’ve got to stop being nice and treating people like people—”_  
  
It suddenly occurred to Akaashi that Bokuto had managed to misinterpret his (possibly over-)simplification. Bokuto continued his rambling – now on a topic of rumoured replacement in management – having forgotten Akaashi’s emotional hiccup.  
  
“ _Anyway, don’t let it get to you, I know you do a great job – you must do, you’re really smart – they were probably just jealous ’cause they know they can’t compete with you. Hey, if you’re feeling tense, did you want to... meet up and go somewhere to forget about it? I’ll be free for lunch._ ”  
  
Technically he was available. There was nothing scheduled, and it would be easy to meet up with Bokuto and go to a place where they could enjoy each other’s company, finishing the day on a rounded note that would have Akaashi content and in the mood to put aside his work and perhaps even put his feet up while indulging in one of his pricier blends of green tea.  
  
On the other hand, should he really be indulging in luxuries when a complication had arisen?   
  
Disappointment churned in his stomach.  
  
“ _It’s too short notice isn’t it. Maybe next time._ ”  
  
The line cut off before Akaashi could say anything more, and a weight began to tug at his spirits, dragging it down, and down.  
  
He sighed again. Bokuto must have mistaken his silence as refusal.

By eleven his spirits had hit the very bottom, forcing Akaashi to resort to lying on his bed, no appetite, no concentration, and no will to even sleep. He had been staring at his smooth white ceiling for the better part of half an hour trying to ignore the vindictive little voice in his head that spat and nipped, accusing him that he was unworthy of being titled a musubiya, and also a soulmate.  
  
This really would not do.  
  
He hauled himself and his troubling thoughts off the bed, grabbed his coat, and left.  
  
It took twenty minutes to arrive at Shibuya, and then another five to weave through the underground maze to the staircase that took him immediately outside of Bokuto’s workplace, bypassing the crowds and the wait at the crossing. Akaashi checked through the window and scanned the workers twice before realising Bokuto had his hair down.  
  
It was odd to see him with his eyes hidden behind his fringe, which dampened the energetic aura Akaashi was growing accustomed to. Bokuto handed out a drink, his grin not quite reaching his eyes, and it disappeared during the few seconds between the customer turning their back on him and the next one shuffling forward to collect their drink.   
  
Akaashi knew this was his doing. He walked around to the entrance and joined the end of the queue. There were no others with threads hanging off those in waiting; he made a mental note to come in one day to watch Bokuto at work trying to convince his customers about the existence of soulmates.  
  
When it was his turn to order, Akaashi asked for a short tea latte, politely declining the enthusiastic recommendations for customising his drink from the woman behind the till. Another five minutes and he watched the man ahead of him take his paper cup and make his way outside.  
  
Stepping into place in front of the counter, he watched Bokuto check the order.  
  
“A short tea latte coming right up—” Bokuto glanced up. “Oh—”  
  
“Good morning.”  
  
Bokuto’s smile was almost apologetic. “Morning. I’ll get you your order real quick.”  
  
A short tea latte required only a short wait, though it was enough time for Akaashi to note that Bokuto’s movements were now a little less listless, and a little less dragging.  
  
Bokuto returned once more, this time with a mug in hand.  
  
“I heard a rumour one of the baristas here has the ability to know when someone is tied to a soulmate,” Akaashi commented casually.  
  
Bokuto frowned, making no move to pass the drink. “You know it’s – oh! I see what you’re – yeah, that’s... me?”   
  
Akaashi brought his hands into view, resting them on the counter. “Then would you happen to know my fate?”  
  
Bokuto glanced down. “I’d, uh, say you’ve got yourself a soulmate.” He gave a weak shrug. “Can’t tell for sure if they’re any good.”  
  
Akaashi reached for the mug as soon as Bokuto began putting it down, the thread between them shortening until their little fingers – and bows – touched.  
  
“I am certain they are,” Akaashi said, taking the mug off Bokuto who now slowly withdrew his hand. “I intend to take one of the seats upstairs to drink my tea. I pray fortune is on my side and my soulmate will come and join me.”  
  
Akaashi turned away before he could see Bokuto’s reaction, or before Bokuto could see his, face burning as he kept his steps as even as possible while walking towards the staircase. He felt himself relax as he climbed and just when the counter came into view, a man stood up from the very left corner seat that overlooked the crossing.  
  
Akaashi waited at a distance for the man to put on his coat and clear the area, and then took his time to sit down, knowing it was reserved for him. A high school girl chatting with her friend occupied the seat next to him, but he had a feeling it would shortly become vacant.  
  
He took to viewing the action below, the timed crisscrossing of people and cars alternating across the intersection, and of course the thousands of red lines patterning the ground, flickering as they appeared and disappeared, constantly rearranged by arranged constants stretching and slackening and shifting the vast piece into a design never to be seen twice. Down on the ground it was easy to forget just how many there were, the threads blending into the background as normal and unobtrusive as grass or gravel.  
  
The two girls upped and left. Akaashi checked his watch – five minutes past twelve – and presumed it would only be a matter of time before the one beside him filled; he took a sip of his tea and waited.  
  
As predicted, not even a minute had passed when from the corner of his eye he could see a person slide into the seat.  
  
“You have your hair down today,” Akaashi remarked, though he continued to watch the cars speed and swerve below.  
  
“I realised people take me more seriously when it’s down.”   
  
Akaashi waited, feeling like the silence was a short pause than an end.  
  
“I’m surprised to see you.”  
  
Akaashi looked into his tea, still two-thirds full. “I would be lying if I said my initial motive for coming here was selfless. Your sadness made me lose interest in all my activities and I spent my time wallowing in self-pity. I wished to correct my blunder by raising your emotional level to that which is standard and concluded the most effective way of achieving this would be to visit you nearing the end of your morning shift so that I may ask you to join me for lunch.  
  
“However, whilst waiting in line I was able to watch you in action, my personal desire seemed inconsequential compared to my desire to see – and feel – you enlivened. How else would you be able to cheer on those who are fortunate enough to cross your path?”  
  
Akaashi glanced aside. “Or is my being here an inconvenience?”  
  
Warmth leapt inside Akaashi and splashed back into the depths of his murky emotions.   
  
Bokuto smiled weakly. “Akaashi, I’m really, really happy to see you… but I already promised to have lunch with Kuroo.”  
  
It was difficult to tell whether the sinking feeling belonged to him or Bokuto.  
  
“I’d say come and join us, but I get the feeling you’d feel like you were intruding.”  
  
One week and Bokuto was already able to tell how Akaashi would react; the power of the thread was not to be underestimated.  
  
“Then should you not be on your way?” Akaashi wondered why he tried to keep his tone neutral when Bokuto was surely able to tell his own feelings were wavering.  
  
“He said he’s running a little late.” Bokuto dragged his seat closer and rested clasped hands on the table so a shift in their arms would have them touching. “We can talk till then?”  
  
Akaashi was sure Bokuto would start talking, but instead silence fell as he stared into the frothy, creamy-brown liquid, the smallest of creases between his brows as he tried to think of a topic.  
  
His gaze fell onto the thread that cut across the table, longer than normal when they sat on the wrong sides.   
  
“Do you consider this thread a nuisance?”  
  
It lifted with Bokuto raising his hand. He thumbed the delicate ring. “No? Why – don’t you like it? I like having proof that I’m meant to be with you.”  
  
“It takes some getting used to. I know it is weightless and I could not even tell it had been tied to my finger until you had pointed it out. Yet what it represents feels heavy on my finger – and my heart.”   
  
Akaashi looked to Bokuto, who was staring intently. “Please do not take it to mean I find you to be a… a dead weight,” he finished, borrowing Oikawa’s words. “I mean to say it is significant, that it should not be taken flippantly.”  
  
“I feel what you mean,” Bokuto said, giving him an encouraging smile.  
  
Akaashi felt the line of his mouth soften. “By having this on me, it reinforced the gravity of the work done by the – ones who tie the threads.”  
  
Akaashi watched Bokuto reach out with his threaded hand to Akaashi’s holding the cup, a pause just short of touching so Akaashi could pull away if he wanted to; when there was no reaction, Bokuto touched the thread around his little finger.   
  
“A few years back when I was still at uni trying to find work for after graduation, I didn’t like whoever it was that went around tying threads ’cause they never gave anyone a choice, just tied them onto strangers without even a hello… Now I think about it, that was probably just stress talking from being cooped up indoors staring at the computer; as soon as I went outside and saw other people with the threads it made me feel warm inside – it’s what gave me the idea of trying to meet as many people who had the threads as I can.  
  
“Recently though – I’m talking right before I met you – I started to rethink my choices. Do I carry on with what I’m doing now? Do I try something else? Or do I just give up and get a proper job? But then I met you, and we talked the other day about how our souls had already decided to be together and – that clinched it for me. I wouldn’t want to do anything not related to soul-tying. If there was a way for me to help the ones tying the threads, if I could figure out a way to get soulmates to find each other quicker so they could spend even a second longer with each other, I’d do it, whatever it takes. It’s stupid, huh? Can’t live off it or get any recognition, but… it’s what I want to do.”  
  
Bokuto rubbed his thumb over Akaashi’s thread, and along his little finger, his smile slowly fading as he sank into his own world.  
  
Akaashi found himself raising his other hand to gently brush Bokuto’s fringe aside, drawing him back to bright reality before darkness pulled him in; the day was young and still demanded much to be accomplished from them. From him.  
  
“Your desire to help is not foolish, and I am certain you are already playing a great role in aiding both those who tie and are tied.”  
  
Even if by ‘those’ he meant a lone person. But one was all it took to exact influence.  
  
Bokuto’s smile shifted to gratitude. “Anyway – the fairies, or gods, or whoever are tying the threads are just doing everything they can to bring us together in whatever way they can, so we can spend it together in the most amazing way we can. Hey, it’s exactly like that saying! Uh… ‘Ties that bind are wondrous as they are peculiar.’”  
  
Bokuto leaned into Akaashi. “Did I get that right?” he whispered.  
  
Akaashi also leaned in slightly and murmured, “Yes, you did. However, I maintain that the threads are not tied by fairies. Or gods for that matter.” The ball of thread inside his pouch was very proof of that.  
  
Bokuto neither agreed nor disagreed, just watched Akaashi with an expression that relaxed the remainder of his tension. “I wish there was a way to thank them, I wouldn’t be here with you now if it weren’t for them. But there’s no way of getting in touch, and no one except people like us know they exist… they must get really lonely. Oh – unless they’ve got soulmates too!”  
  
“That would be too much of a happy ending,” Akaashi said sadly. He felt something begin to drop within him, which was suddenly being pulled back up.  
  
“It’ll be happy if you believe it’ll be happy,” Bokuto said with a small pout. He then began to rub Akaashi’s fingers between his as one might do when checking the consistency of powdered snow; the sadness began to melt. “You know, at first I thought you weren’t into this relationship, your emotions seemed… flat. Controlled. But even after a week I feel more from you and I know it’s not just ’cause you’re affected by how I feel.”  
  
“My surroundings demanded emotional detachment,” Akaashi admitted. “I… recently wonder how I had been living up until this point. While the emotions can at times be overwhelming, I am beginning to feel grateful for them – and grateful to the one stirring them awake.”  
  
The echoes of beating that was becoming second nature to Akaashi suddenly picked up pace.  
  
Akaashi looked to Bokuto. “I am sure my gratitude does not merit the level of excitement you are currently emitting.”  
  
A blush began to spread across Bokuto’s face. “It’s not that! All this talk, it’s kind of… _intimate_ , it makes me want to – I want to—” Bokuto glanced around and leaned into his ear. “I really want to kiss you.” He jerked back. “Not that I’m expecting you to! You asked, and there’s no point lying when you’d know, so I’m just telling you the truth.”  
  
Akaashi also glanced around to the people around them paying them no heed, too busy with chatter, or reading, or whatever they were doing on their devices.  
  
“I do not feel comfortable kissing in front of other people. However...”   
  
Akaashi raised his mug – Bokuto’s hand slipped away – and he took a sip, then turned the side on which he had pressed his lips towards Bokuto, holding the mug out.   
  
“Would this do?”  
  
“A-an indirect kiss?” Bokuto sounded incredulous.  
  
“It used to be considered quite intimate,” Akaashi said, ending his sentence with a near silent sigh; perhaps Bokuto thought him and his out-dated notion odd. He began withdrawing the mug, muttering, “The effect must be lost in this day and age—”  
  
Bokuto’s hands were around his, pulling the mug out of his grasp, and Akaashi looked up to find Bokuto scrunching his face, knocking his head back and taking big gulps until he was thrusting the mug back into Akaashi’s hands.  
  
Akaashi took it, peering inside.   
  
“...You did not have to consume the whole drink.” He had hoped to finish his drink while viewing the hustle and bustle below. Now he barely had half a mouthful.  
  
“Oh, damn – the idea of it made me – I can get you another, just wait here—!”  
  
“Should you not be meeting Kuroo-san?”  
  
“ _Kuroo_ – I forgot—” Bokuto checked his phone and shot up. “He’s already – I gotta get going – I’ll buy you another drink next time we—” He gripped the back of his chair, hands already tapping away restlessly. “Can we meet this week?”  
  
Akaashi turned his schedule over in his mind. He was still snowed under with work, his company adamant on squeezing as much into the last couple of weeks before the New Year as possible.  
  
However, he had been doing the company a huge service already. One early night would not go amiss.  
  
“Wednesday evening,” he said slowly. Midweek was the earliest he would be able to meet Bokuto and – how interesting that he was choosing the earliest possible time to see him. “If your shift allows.”  
  
“Wednesday! Great! There’s something I wanted to check out in Roppongi so we can meet there – let me know what time you can get off work!”  
  
The jittering within him continued after Bokuto left in a flurry, nearly knocking over customers with their drinks as they walked up the final steps, and even as Akaashi caught sight of him a minute later dashing across the crossing – Bokuto turned once to give a big wave which Akaashi returned with one smaller – it was hard to tell if the effect was from the caffeine or the ‘kiss’.  
  
Akaashi decided to place it on the latter.

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

On Wednesday night, cold air began to nip Akaashi’s skin as soon as he stepped off the escalators and out of the building that had cocooned him during his ascent.   
  
Akaashi knew why Bokuto had called him here, he had seen the posters along the station walls – the Christmas market. Presumably he was at the right exit, but knowing Bokuto there may have been an additional surprise in store, so he pulled out his phone to message Bokuto for confirmation when a feeling began to bounce in his chest that grew stronger—  
  
He turned, finding Bokuto a few feet away, looking as though he was trying to creep up on him.  
  
“I thought I’d be able to reach you before you caught on!” Bokuto resumed his usual way of walking. “Soulmate instincts are strong!”  
  
But not that strong, at least in Akaashi's case, for it took several blinks for him to realise he was being wrapped in the warmth of Bokuto’s arms, cushioned in his light grey down jacket, and enwreathed in a strong aroma of coffee lined with a subtle woody, almost leathery, scent; he inhaled deeply, Bokuto’s unstyled hair tickling his nose. The second scent was similar to that of his pouch and instantly soothed his nerves.  
  
“Sorry, I should’ve asked, is this—”  
  
“Yes, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, savoured the sensation. “This is most certainly fine.”  
  
Even with the confirmation, Bokuto was stepping away too soon.   
  
Akaashi supposed it would be impractical to stand all night in each other’s arms.   
  
“Come on – you’ll love where I’m planning to take you!”   
  
Bokuto began walking in the predicted direction and it took only two minutes before warm glows of reds and oranges could be seen in the distance.  
  
“A Christmas market?” Akaashi asked cautiously.  
  
Bokuto turned to him, as excited as a child. “And light-ups too! I bet you didn’t see that one coming!”  
  
Akaashi smiled, a little secretive. “Your charming idea has me pleasantly surprised.”   
  
The crowds were bustling, and Akaashi had to take care when squeezing himself between the bodies, following Bokuto to a drink stand so they could order something warm. With a cup of mulled wine in their hands, Bokuto began drooling over the variety of foods available.  
  
Akaashi usually viewed festivities from a distance, the decorations and events nothing more than a seasonal indicator, and the more elaborate they became over the years the less inclined he felt to become involved, giving the same excuse a local might when asked why they had yet to visit all the tourist spots – time was not of the essence and they would always remain there in some way or form, and he would get around to it – One Day.  
  
Akaashi observed their surroundings, narrow pathways squashed with people who were entranced by the colourful stands, and he looked to Bokuto who walked immediately in front. Keeping the wine close to him Akaashi reached out with his free hand to brush against Bokuto’s, pointedly ignoring Bokuto whipping round to gawk by stopping to take a deliberate interest in the stand they were just passing, the hanging baubles glittering and glistening and reflecting the sparks of excitement of those present, including Akaashi himself.  
  
He received a brush against his hand in reply – an affirmation.   
  
Without a visual it took a moment’s fumbling, but he eventually found what he was looking for; he wrapped his fingers around Bokuto’s hand that was toasty warm.  
  
Tonight was that One Day. And he imagined – glancing at Bokuto, his face lit up and not just from the thousands of sparkling lights strung up, around and above them – that it would be the first of all to come.  
  
“I didn’t think you’d want to hold hands here,” Bokuto said.  
  
“I had an inexplicable urge to confirm you were in fact real and not an elaborate fabrication of my imagination.”   
  
That, and Akaashi simply wished to feel his warmth again.  
  
“I feel like that all the time,” Bokuto said with a grin. “Come on, let’s go and have a look at that stand over there!”  
  
And they were on the move again, Bokuto tugging at Akaashi and manoeuvring them through the crowds, stopping to pause in front of a stand lined with candle holders of winter scenery.  
  
Someone knocked into Akaashi, jostling his arm, liquid spilling over the rim and adding a splash of wine red onto Bokuto’s coat.  
  
“I apologise, Bokuto-san—”  
  
“What?” Bokuto looked down. “Are you okay – oh! Don’t worry about it, I’ll just get it washed—”  
  
Akaashi reached to grab the handkerchief from his pouch—  
  
Gone.  
  
Akaashi dropped the cup – wine splattering onto his trousers and splashing over his shoes – and tugged his hand out of Bokuto’s, fumbling with shaking hands to undo the buttons of his coat for visual confirmation – he had last noted its presence when waiting for Bokuto—   
  
There was a void where his pouch should be hanging.  
  
Akaashi frantically began searching the floor.  
  
“Akaashi? What’s—”  
  
“It is gone,” Akaashi said, alarm and fear filling him up. “I – I need to find it—”  
  
“What’s gone? What’ve you lost?”  
  
“My pouch. I need that pouch, Bokuto-san, it has – it has everything, my whole life—”  
  
“I’m sure it’s around – tell me what it looks like!”  
  
“It is leather – dark, plain – and old – scuffed – but well-oiled – the strap is—”  
  
Realisation dawned on him.   
  
“I was supposed to have gotten the strap repaired, I _told_ myself I needed to get it repaired that day, and then—” Akaashi glanced up at Bokuto. “And then you appeared.”  
  
He said it quietly, and though there was no hint of accusation in his voice, the way Bokuto’s expression hardened suggested he knew exactly what Akaashi was implying.  
  
“We’ll find it,” Bokuto insisted before Akaashi could say anything more. “I’ll take the right side, you take left, and we’ll retrace our steps back to where we started.”  
  
Bokuto wandered into the crowds. Akaashi had no time for concerns – he had to find that pouch. What if someone were to find it, pulled out the scissors, opened them—  
  
_And snipped it shut_.  
  
He brought his hand to his mouth – it trembled violently, and the contents of his stomach roiled—  
  
_We’ll find it._  
  
Slowly he lowered his hand, forcing himself to take deep breaths and focus on the floor, checking along the edge of the stands, anywhere it could be. As he came closer to the clearing that led back to the station, he saw the drink stand where they had bought the wine and wondered whether to continue on or retrace his retraced steps—  
  
His pouch.  
  
It had fallen, or had been kicked aside, into the gap between the stand and the bins next to it, and Akaashi almost lunged for it; the flap was already open and he searched scrambling through his belongings, finding the thread, the stopwatch—  
  
There were no scissors.  
  
“Where is it—” Akaashi pushed away the other contents – the handkerchief he was supposed to have used on Bokuto’s wine-splashed coat, the wallet he had been determined to pull out at the next food stand – but there was no sign of the scissors. He dropped to his knees, continuing his search again at the floor, around the metal bins of flammables and non-flammables and bottles and cans and the slop bucket, and found… nothing.

He stared fixedly at the bins. What if the scissors had fallen inside—

“Akaashi!”  
  
Bokuto returned to his side.  
  
“You found it! That’s—”  
  
“Nothing is found until all is found!” Akaashi said desperately, checking a second time before deciding to delve inside. “It has to be here—”  
  
“What? What are you—”  
  
“The scissors, Bokuto-san. I need those scissors.”  
  
Bokuto dropped down next to him. “Uh, are you—”  
  
“I cannot let anyone hold it – if they use it, they may cut the threads!”  
  
“Wait—”  
  
Akaashi snapped his head up. “I cannot _wait_ when lives are at stake! I tie threads, it is my duty to look after my equipment, to keep them on my person at all times and I – I have lost it, four centuries and I _lose_ it because I became distracted – no, I should have gotten it fixed as soon as I realised, I am but an amateur, the simplest of rules—”  
  
Bokuto reached out. “Akaashi—”  
  
Akaashi slapped his hand away. “You do not understand! If someone cuts those threads they will utterly _demolish_ the lives of those people—”  
  
“These?”  
  
Bokuto held out his other hand, the pair of golden scissors resting small in his palm.  
  
“You—” Akaashi snatched it out of his hand, examined them to make sure they were his – weighty from the gold, knots engraved around the handles – the chances of anyone having a pair exactly the same were close to none. “You found them.” He looked up. “Did you use them? Please tell me you didn’t—”  
  
Bokuto shook his head hard. “No, Akaashi.”  
  
Akaashi searched Bokuto’s face for a lie – he knew there was no need, that he could trust this man with his life and maybe, eventually, even his tools, that he was performing a grave disservice by questioning his integrity.   
  
All the while Bokuto stood still, stood sturdy and tall as he bore the incertitude.   
  
Akaashi looked down at the scissors and pouch, both clutched close to his chest.  
  
“I didn’t know they were yours,” he heard Bokuto gently say. “They looked expensive so I thought I’d take them to lost and found. I guess... they’re found.”  
  
Akaashi tightened his grip around his belongings, reassuring himself that they were indeed found.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Akaashi continued to kneel, the silence between them as deafening as those spent alone in bursts of sixty.

The hand tick-tick-ticked around—

Struck.

“I believe... I owe you an explanation.”

They sat on a bench hidden in the shadows and away from the main walkway, murmurs of activity coming from behind and the view of the tower in front glowing in a gentler, smudged orange to suit the winter mood.  
  
Akaashi ran his thumb over the broken strap of his pouch in which his scissors were now safely nestled.  
  
Several minutes of silence had already passed. Akaashi knew it was his duty to initiate the conversation. He knew he would have to explain himself, albeit a condensed version for tonight.  
  
But it was the unknown that prevented him from doing so – how Bokuto would react, and if the revelation would test their bond to such an extent that it would bring about the impossible – the thread combusting from Bokuto’s anger, and the wind carrying off its ashes to leave no sign that they had ever been tied.  
  
The rustle from Bokuto shifting pulled him back to reality.  
  
“I am a musubiya,” Akaashi confessed; his voice lacked the usual self-assurance. “It is what we call ourselves – we are the ones who tie the red threads of fate. There are several of us, although I could not tell you how many. I also would not be able to tell you their age.”  
  
“Their age? What do you mean?”  
  
Akaashi inhaled loudly. “We are immortal while we retain our title. I would place my current age to at least four hundred and—”  
  
“ _Four hundred!”_  
  
From the corner of his eye, Akaashi saw Bokuto slap his hand over his mouth and glance around. If someone had heard, they were not coming to check.  
  
“At least four hundred and forty,” Akaashi corrected. “As to this profession, I have been tasked with tying this never-ending ball of thread for four hundred and nineteen of those years. However, I have recently been told my immortality has been stripped from me now that I myself have been tied. I will age as any other.”  
  
Akaashi opened his pouch to pull out the ball of thread, holding it between his fingers. Bokuto’s hand came into sight to reach for it and almost immediately started to withdraw.  
  
“You may touch it.”  
  
Bokuto’s hand reached out again; the threads dissolved where his fingers rested.  
  
“A special technique is required to hold the threads – any force too strong or a motion too fast and they will be startled and disappear, reappearing at first sign of stillness. It took three decades for me to fully master the art.”  
  
“How did you become one?”  
  
“I cannot say,” Akaashi said, returning the thread inside its home. “While I have no recollection of my life before being told to begin my work, I do not believe this occupation was chosen unwillingly. I am certain that I had asked to be turned into one or had given permission for someone to turn me into one.”  
  
“Is that why… at the exhibition? You were really drawn to that flag.”  
  
“That may have a part to do with it, yes. There are times I am drawn to certain themes. The Sengoku period. The act of being a messenger. I am sure they are related to my past life. As I said, I do not actively seek an answer. I believe everything has been forgotten by design, and if one day I am to remember what I was, then a reason lies therein for that also.”  
  
Akaashi opened the flap and peered in; he had lost count how many times he had checked, but he had to make sure.

The ball of thread, the stopwatch – the scissors.  
  
“You said you can’t cut the thread. What happens if you do?”  
  
Akaashi pulled out the scissors, holding the blade in his grasp.  
  
“There are three situations. The main and most obvious – after we have tied the soulmates together, the ball is to be freed from the tie.   
  
“As for the second – I do not know whether it has ever come to your attention, but the threads ashen from red – this signifies the death of one party. It is also our responsibility to cut these free. The living recipient will never fully recover from the pain of having the thread cut, but it will bring them an odd sense of comfort, as the pain will reassure them that their love had been real, that in this lifetime they had truly been soulmates.  
  
“I have only ever heard of the third – deliberately cutting the thread. While I cannot begin to imagine how this would feel, I have been told it is akin to snipping a vein wherein energies flowed therebetween. The result of cutting the thread is to leave it hanging, the energy created by both persons constantly gushing out like a tap left fully on, and they will spend the rest of their days too depleted to feel joy and passion and desire. It is one of the worst forms of torture anyone will ever endure.”  
  
“Why would anyone do that?”  
  
Shaking his head, Akaashi began to turn the scissors over between his fingers. “I am sure there are as many reasons for suffering to exist as there are joy. So you see, this is why no one else must hold these. Should they be used by a person who lacks the ability to see the threads, the results will be catastrophic.”  
  
Akaashi returned the scissors and snapped the flap closed. He had yet to see Bokuto’s face, and checking in with his heart, he should have felt relief from not being able to sense anything strong. Instead, the hush stirred unease. With a quick glance he could see Bokuto sitting with a slight lean forward, his weight on his arms that rested on his thighs, hands dangling but clasped firm; he also noted the modest gap between them.   
  
The thought incited a pang of guilt.  
  
“Please forgive me for my earlier outburst, my words were cruel and unfair to you. Contrary to what I implied I have not once regretted being tied to you. I have felt anxious, yes, and a little perplexed, but never regretful.”  
  
Bokuto shifted, unclasping his hands, and Akaashi thought he might make a move to reach out for him like he always did.  
  
He was wrong. Bokuto rubbed his hands along his lap, slowing until he was gripping his knees.   
  
“It hurt. It felt like I was drowning and having something heavy knock out any breath I had left. Like there were hundreds of needles pricking my heart. Like the world was being shaken and the ground disappeared and I was falling—”  
  
“I sincerely apologise—”  
  
“—And I couldn’t do anything.”  
  
Akaashi looked up at those words, finding Bokuto unsmiling as he stared into the distance; not saddened – only serious.   
  
“You stood fast as an anchor and found what had been lost without becoming engulfed by my emotions. I would say you did everything you possibly could.”  
  
He lifted his own hand, paused, then reaching out, paused again as he hovered his hand over Bokuto’s; he lowered it to rest it atop his.  
  
“I will understand if you need time.”  
  
Bokuto finally turned to him, the darkness making his expression all the sterner. “Time for what?”  
  
“To consider what you wish to do hereon in. I kept from you a grave secret, and there are many factors for you to consider. Difference in mentality, for one—”  
  
Suddenly Bokuto’s hand was gripping his, too strong to be comfortable.   
  
“I just found you, Akaashi, I’m not letting you go. Do you think we’d be together if I couldn’t deal with all that? It’s the thought of not being able to do anything for you – not being with you – that hurts the most. Don’t push me away only to wait some more. You already waited over four hundred years for me to come here. I’ll never make you wait another second.”  
  
While Bokuto’s eyes no longer glistened gold in the dark, he felt their intensity all the same.   
  
Akaashi averted his gaze in thought, returned to look Bokuto in the eye and said, “I should mention your arrival ran five minutes past our promised time.”  
  
With every blink, Bokuto’s frown grew deeper.  
  
“That doesn’t count,” Bokuto declared loudly. “I didn't know what you’d been through! Okay – from _right this moment_ I won’t make you wait another second – and we’ll start with getting your bag fixed, I bet we can find somewhere open!”  
  
Bokuto jumped up and tugged at his hand, pulling him to his feet. Akaashi’s hold around his pouch was firm, but it would not surprise him to find the hold around his hand firmer.  
  
“How old is your bag anyway?”  
  
“Older than you, Bokuto-san.”  
  
“And here I was thinking I was the older one out of us two!”   
  
And in the blink of an eye, they were back to mingling in the crowds, Bokuto leading the way, creating a path for Akaashi to follow as he pulled out his phone, talking about whether there was a shop in this part of town or if they would have to take a train elsewhere. And even as Akaashi felt a weight lift off his chest at revealing his greatest secret, he knew he would have to rouse the rest that had been lying in hibernation.  
  
But then, everything would be revealed in due time. After all, Bokuto had reassured him that he would be the one waiting, and they did have the rest of their lives together.

“You really did not have to accompany me all the way home.”  
  
They were walking along the road to Akaashi’s apartment, Bokuto insisting he take him all the way to the front door in case Akaashi dropped his belongings, which were currently housed safely inside Bokuto’s rucksack that had been lent to him. They had found a leather repair shop just five minutes prior to closing and Akaashi was able to leave his pouch for repairs with the pickup date scheduled for three days’ time.   
  
“I know! But like I said, I’ve got a train pass so it doesn’t cost me anything to go out of the station – not that it’s about the money, I’d do it anyway even if I had to pay! I just want to make sure you get back home with your tools. I’m not trying anything on, I promise!”  
  
Akaashi glanced aside to watch Bokuto ruffle his hair with an indecipherable mumble, and with a small smile turned into his apartment building and walked ahead to open the front door.  
  
“I thought you’d live in somewhere more… traditional,” Bokuto said, seemingly recovered from his stumble.  
  
“Because of my age?” Akaashi led them to the elevators and once inside pressed nine, the top floor of the building. “Perhaps I will one day take a short vacation in one when I feel a bout of nostalgia. Meanwhile, I intend to enjoy the full benefits of a technologically-upgraded home in the modern era.”  
  
The rest of the ascent along with the walk down the outside corridors was quiet, and once all the way at the other end of the corridor and by the front door of his abode, Akaashi turned to Bokuto.  
  
“Bokuto-san—”  
  
“You don’t need to tell me you’re sorry. Or you want to thank me.”  
  
Akaashi looked down at the rucksack in his arms. “In that case I will return your bag to you when my pouch has been repaired.”  
  
“I said you can keep it, I’ve got a few at home." Bokuto shot him a grin. “You never know, you might decide to technologically-upgrade your bag too.”  
  
Akaashi huffed softly. “It is highly unlikely, I am rather attached to it. But if you insist, I will keep your bag as insurance.” He paused to lick his cold, dry lips. “Will you have time this weekend to meet?”  
  
“I’ll always make time for you.”  
  
The silence that fell between them was more hesitant this time, like both were waiting on the other to end the evening because neither wanted to be the first to initiate the farewells.  
  
Akaashi certainly did not want to part with Bokuto.  
  
“I better get going,” Bokuto broke the silence first. He then leaned in, gave a quick squeeze around Akaashi’s shoulders and made a quicker retreat.  
  
Akaashi noted a familiar feeling, same as the one he had felt at the coffee shop when Bokuto revealed that he hoped for something more.   
  
“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi checked the corridor that was still empty. “No one else is here.”  
  
Bokuto checked the corridor too. “I know?”  
  
Akaashi tried again, taking a step closer. “No one else is here... this time.”  
  
“Okay…? Oh! Oh. You can tell, can’t you—”  
  
“Yes.”   
  
Bokuto checked the corridor one more time, then leaned in; just when Akaashi thought of closing his eyes Bokuto veered to the side and gave a small peck to his left cheek, then jumped back, face reddened.  
  
Akaashi found the act sweet, that despite being so outgoing, Bokuto was bashful when it came to showing affection (at least for the first time).  
  
However he had hoped for something… direct.  
  
“What about the other side?” Akaashi suggested.  
  
“Uh – sure! To balance it out, yeah—”  
  
Bokuto leaned in again, and as he veered the other way, Akaashi followed his movement—  
  
Their lips touched.  
  
Akaashi stopped him, with the exact same pressure he applied to hold threads – light as a feather – and held his breath, not daring to shift even the air around them lest it ruffled Bokuto’s innermost nature, delicate and tenderhearted, and he took flight.  
  
But Bokuto parted anyway, merely a breath’s width, not to flee but to hover to better behold him. Akaashi stood a statue gold-cast by his gaze, immobilised; seconds stretched to eternity, and he became immortal once more.  
  
“I made you wait again,” Bokuto said softly.  
  
Akaashi released his breath; “As you already expressed your intent on Sunday, it is I who made you wait.”  
  
Bokuto reached to take his left hand, clasping it between his hands, and there was warmth Akaashi could only describe as love filling him in a steady stream.  
  
“I want to kiss you, so much. But I want to hold onto this feeling, and... I know if I kiss you again now it’ll disappear. I get the feeling you feel the same.”  
  
Akaashi smiled. “I would indeed like to savour this feeling a while longer. We can retry when we next meet.”  
  
“We’ll have to go somewhere without crowds,” Bokuto said, a look of concentration falling across his face as he likely considered where would be best.  
  
“One can always find pockets hidden from prying eyes.”   
  
Bokuto pulled Akaashi’s hand to his chest like he wanted to spirit him away into one now, to hide from the ever-watchful universe so they could bask solely in each other’s existence.  
  
And then he gently pushed his hand away back to him, claiming defeat – at least for tonight – and let go.   
  
“Night, Akaashi.”  
  
“Good night, Bokuto-san.”  
  
Akaashi watched Bokuto make his way down the corridor – he turned once to check if Akaashi was still there and gave a small wave, which Akaashi returned with one smaller, an unfurling of his fingers than what could be defined a wave – and then Bokuto turned the corner and was gone.  
  
Akaashi went inside. His heart was strangely quiet, though not the kind that was unnerving; it was a perfect level of fulfilment, not lesser to make him yearn or overflowing to overwhelm – filled to the rim, still and balanced—  
  
Whole.  
  
He thought it might spill over as he leaned over to take off his shoes and line them up against the wall, or as he pulled off his coat, reaching up to hang it on the rack, but it stayed complete within him.  
  
Only – the _knock, knock_ splashed it over the sides as he turned to stare at the closed door.   
  
Had Bokuto forgotten something – or had he conceived of a flawless plan to sweep him off his feet?  
  
Akaashi opened the door again and was momentarily startled by the visitor pulling the plug on his moment.  
  
“...Sawamura-san.”  
  
“Sorry to betray your expectations.” The apology was also blended into the smile. “Do you mind if we talk inside?”  
  
Akaashi hesitated, then opened the door wider as an indication to come through.  
  
“I won’t stay too long,” Sawamura said, stepping into the entrance but making no move to take off shoes, closing the door for Akaashi. “I wanted to come by and congratulate you.”  
  
“Surely a postscript would have sufficed.”  
  
Akaashi was sure it would be considered unwise to be terse towards an entity far greater than himself, especially to the likes of one such as Sawamura who gave off the impression of benevolence and should have had Akaashi relaxing instead of alerting him with a faint warning in the back of his mind that he should tread with caution.  
  
On the other hand, it had been approximately twenty years since their last meeting, and these few weeks had not been the only trying time he had hoped dearly for advice.  
  
“You’re put out by me not visiting. Think of it this way – you’re capable of handling everything that comes your way and can be left to your own devices.”  
  
The smile on Sawamura’s face may have been genuine, but Akaashi could instinctively tell that one more push and he would flip a switch that would cast a deadly shadow, a torch-lit face in the dark.  
  
He quickly silenced his impending vexation.  
  
“I presume your visit is to collect what has been lent,” Akaashi said, crouching down to the bag temporarily left on the floor, and pulling out the thread, scissors and stopwatch. He righted himself and held them out to Sawamura.  
  
Sawamura looked down at it, stared at it, and looked back up – the smile had changed to one of humour.   
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I am no longer a musubiya. Oikawa-san has done his duty of tying me to Bokuto-san, thereby rendering me mortal. I am unable to do the same to him as my stopwatch does not work. Therefore I will have to abandon and return to you my current assignment along with my possessions.”  
  
Sawamura chuckled. “I see he got to your head.”  
  
Akaashi let out a small sigh. “Sawamura-san, if you would be so kind as to spare me the blushes and allow me to resign without ridicule.”  
  
The look Sawamura flashed was sympathetic, and adjusting the posture to stand taller, personal amusement shifted to professional courtesy.  
  
“Immortality is more powerful than mortality.”  
  
Those words generated a tingle in Akaashi’s body.  
  
“Could you... elaborate?”  
  
“That reminds me of a phrase I overheard recently… oh, that’s right. ‘Not everything has to be doom and gloom’.” There was a twinkle in Sawamura’s eye. “You can choose to become mortal again whenever you and your soulmate feel ready to move on. Only once, mind you.”  
  
Akaashi was still immortal. Moreover, Bokuto had been bestowed immortality through him. How should he go about breaking the news, and how well would it be taken? Knowing Bokuto, with two extremes.  
  
“As for the stopwatch, it’ll return to normal for your next assignment.” Sawamura reached for the door handle.  
  
“Then how am I to tie the thread onto Oikawa-san?” Akaashi asked in an attempt to stop Sawamura from walking out of the now-open door.   
  
Sawamura paused, expression thoughtful. “You’re only a musubiya while you can tie threads. Think of it as a small test. Pass, and you’ll be able to spend ‘forever’ with your soulmate.”

Fate stepped out and closed the door.

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

“Whose is the tea with milk?”  
  
“That would be mine.”  
  
Akaashi watched the waitress set down his cup of tea, along with a small jug of milk and a bowl of brown sugar cubes. She asked for confirmation on the other two orders, placing a glass of melon soda float directly opposite and a large cup of cappuccino to its left.  
  
“Was there anything else to your orders?”  
  
“No, thank you.”  
  
She rolled the bill into the wooden holder and left.  
  
Akaashi added a dash of milk, then swirled the drink with delicate clinks to turn it a nice golden brown. He eyed the sugar – the day was particularly cold with a forecast of sleet, and he was feeling rather chilled; he took one cube and slipped it into his drink.  
  
“Thank you for organising this meeting, Bokuto-san,” he said, raising the cup to his mouth. He inhaled the floral scent and took a small sip – full, with a pleasant aftertaste.  
  
“No worries!” Bokuto said, tugging off the bright red cherry from its stalk. “You said it was important!”  
  
“And thank you for coming as well, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi said, turning to Kuroo who was sitting next to Bokuto with his head resting in his hand. “I understand you are a busy man so I am grateful for you making the time to see me.”  
  
“Yeah, sitting around all day only to serve a handful of customers really knocks it out of you.”  
  
Sarcasm disagreed with Akaashi, especially when used to deflect genuine gratitude, and he opened his mouth—  
  
“So what did you want to talk about?” Bokuto asked, scooping the ice cream, oblivious to the friction.  
  
Akaashi set the cup down, reminding himself that creating hostility would complicate his already-complex life.   
  
“First of all, I must apologise, Bokuto-san. The information I previously relayed to you was incorrect.”  
  
Bokuto glanced up. “What information?”  
  
“Regarding my mortality. It appears I am still immortal.”  
  
Bokuto lowered the spoon he was about to put into his mouth. “So… if you’re immortal...”  
  
His happiness began to fizzle and Akaashi quickly put a stop to his train of thought.  
  
“Instead of the thread stripping me of my immortality, it has granted immortality to you.”  
  
Bokuto froze. Akaashi watched, wondering if he was thinking anything at all behind the glazed look, or if there were a million thoughts speeding so fast that it gave off the appearance that he was still.   
  
The ice cream slid off the spoon and splattered onto the table.   
  
Akaashi used his napkin to wipe the mess. “It will take some time to come to terms with the concept. Contrary to popular belief it is not so easy to—”  
  
Bokuto gripped Akaashi’s hand. “I get to spend four-hundred and forty years with you?”  
  
Akaashi looked up. “We may very well spend—”  
  
“A thousand?!”  
  
“I… suppose it is attainable—”  
  
“ _Forever?!_ ”  
  
“If – if that does not bore you. However the likelihood of—”   
  
Bokuto turned to Kuroo. “You hear that Kuroo?! I get to be with Akaashi forever!”  
  
“You might want to get through your one-year anniversary first,” Kuroo said, giving an encouraging slap on the back. “Happy for you, bro.”   
  
“Wait, but doesn’t that mean we—”  
  
“Which brings me to my second point,” Akaashi interrupted, noting the elation dampen. He turned to Kuroo. “Kuroo-san, you have been assigned a soulmate.”  
  
Bokuto immediately brightened and turned to Kuroo, shaking his shoulder. “Kuroo – that’s awesome!”  
  
Kuroo’s expression said otherwise, the smirk fixed on his face not a true reflection of his emotions as he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I’m listening.”  
  
“His name is Oikawa Tooru, and he is also a musubiya.”  
  
“ _Did you hear that_?! We’re—”  
  
Kuroo pushed away Bokuto’s face. “Hold on a second – let me get the facts straight.” He leaned forward as though to discern Akaashi’s motives at a closer angle. “I’m soulmates with an immortal who goes around tying red string onto people’s pinkies, and if I become tied to him I turn immortal and we live happily ever after.”  
  
“I cannot guarantee the last part, but your assessment is correct.”  
  
Kuroo nodded slowly. “What if I say no?”  
  
“Why would you—”  
  
“I cannot allow you that freedom of choice,” Akaashi said, his voice hardening. “It is I who is responsible for tying you and Oikawa-san together, and I must see to it that this is accomplished or else I cannot move onto my next assignment. A musubiya is only a musubiya whilst they retain the ability to tie threads. I hope you can understand what I am saying.”  
  
Kuroo snorted, pulling away from Akaashi’s gaze to pick up his drink. “Didn’t take you as a man who pulled strings.”  
  
“I am merely laying facts on the line.”  
  
Kuroo gulped a few languid mouthfuls of coffee under Akaashi’s stare. From the corner of his eye Akaashi could see Bokuto glance between the two, smiling puzzled at the smooth conversation hiding invisible barbs.   
  
“Thanks, but no thanks.”  
  
“ _What?!_ ” Bokuto tightened his grip on Kuroo, shaking him harder. “Why?!”  
  
“Look. I’m really happy for you and your soulmate here. But I haven’t met this Oikawa guy, and I’m not gonna spend ‘forever’ with someone I don’t know.”  
  
“But you’re soulmates!”   
  
Kuroo patted Bokuto on the shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, and Bokuto loosened his hold. “Hey, Bokuto – listen. You’ve lived with the idea of being with a soulmate for the whole of your life. I don’t see what you see and I’ve only known about it for the few years I’ve known you – I’m not attached to this idea like you are. Besides, it’s not smart to decide without hearing the whole story. I doubt Akaashi goes around introducing himself to each of his ‘assignments’ before he ties the threads.” Kuroo glanced at Akaashi. “Right?”  
  
As Bokuto’s friend, Akaashi had hoped Kuroo would be easy to convince. He held back the sigh; he was not going to be defeated, especially not to the likes of this man. “In order for you to understand my predicament, I will have to relay to you recent events surrounding Bokuto-san and I.”  
  
Kuroo gave a nod at his mug. “I’ve still got a drink to finish.”  
  
Akaashi looked from Kuroo’s outwardly bored expression to Bokuto’s keen one, then rested his hands around his own cup.  
  
Akaashi took a deep breath.


End file.
